


Picked-Up Pieces

by Nasserwraith



Series: The White Hart - Dragon Age Series [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Beginnings, Bottom Fenris (Dragon Age), Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fenris (Dragon Age) Smut, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasserwraith/pseuds/Nasserwraith
Summary: The night Fenris first approached Hawke in his mansion – Canon Fenris/Hawke Romance in Dragon Age II – he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. But more than anything, he just wanted to be happy. Even if it was just for a little while. He had no idea the story their love would set in motion.(I’ve wanted to do this story/pairing for a while now and…just never got around to it, I guess. In any case, rather than a tasteful fade-to-black (such as takes place in-game), this is my take on the initial intimate encounter between Fenris and Hawke (Male/Mage) following the fight with Hadriana in Dragon Age II.)Part I of "The White Hart" series.





	1. Chapter 1

**PART I**

The crowds were thick as flies on the corpse of a city that had long been rotting from within. Drinking, revelry, carousing; screams echoing from every corner and alleyway. Whether they were cries of joy or terror, Fenris was never quite sure. They all sounded more or less the same to him. But it was late, and the streets were lit by large lamps, swaying from their posts in the humid midsummer breeze. A stream of drunk men made their way in and out of the local taverns, some with bought company, others alone. Interestingly, he did not see any of his companions among them but perhaps that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. The last few days had left them all frustrated and exhausted. Without a backward glance, Fenris made his way through the shadows, along the margins of the streets, where he would go largely unnoticed if he kept his head low. A few voices cat-called him as he passed, but he ignored them. He already had an intended destination and once Fenris made up his mind about something, he was rarely dissuaded from pursuing it. 

The winding alleys gave him cover as he walked the paths he could now probably navigate blindfolded. He knew this city well enough not to lose his way in it anymore and besides, he had other things on his mind more important than mere direction. Hawke, mostly. He tried to think about what he wanted to say and then about how he was going to say the things he wanted to say. He had never been especially articulate when it came fraught conversations and he was worried now that that he would just screw this one up equally well. But he owed Hawke an apology. He had been there when Fenris had asked him to be and had seen the whole mess through faithfully at his side. He didn’t deserve the words that had followed. Fenris sighed. He wasn’t trying to be difficult, it just seemed to always work out that way.

A softer crunch in the road stones alerted him to a difference in his surroundings. Having felt the change in the gravel beneath his feet, Fenris glanced up along the lane to the houses at the far end of the bend. There was a familiar well-cap, followed by some low gardens, and just beyond, was Hawke’s front door. It was a good idea for him that he was not seen. He was not seen entering the house, or going up the stairs, or waiting by the hearth in the hall. All of that was a very good idea.

But the rest of it? … was a terrible idea. It had always been a terrible idea.

They argued. 

“I had no idea where you went. I was concerned.”

“I…needed to be alone. When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it. The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now…I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“This hate…I thought I had gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me…it was too much to bear. But I didn’t come here to burden you further….”

But, of course, they argued. Fenris wasn’t entirely sure he could get through a conversation with Hawke without arguing at least at some point. But he hadn’t thought that he would still be feeling quite so fragile, so volatile. That Hadriana’s defeat would leave him in such a state as this; not one of victoriousness but madness. That he would bristle at the slightest provocation or explode at the first (justified) challenge. And now, here he was, staring Hawke down in his own foyer. He could feel the lyrium etched into his back begin to prickle and the heat of his own misery and shame creeping up the back of his neck. The room was suffocating, the walls closing in on him and he turned to escape the encroaching panic. And then he heard it.

“You don’t need to leave, Fenris.”

Fenris rounded on Hawke with a vengeance, his lyrium markings alighting in the anticipation of battle. Before he knew what had happened, he had Hawke backed up against a wall, the glow of magic flickering threateningly around them. A shocked breath left Hawke as he connected with the bricks, but aside from a raised eyebrow, he did not appear to be intent on retaliating. With sudden horror, Fenris drew back. He hadn’t meant to do that at all and while he had half a mind to beg Hawke’s forgiveness, he couldn’t seem to find any words what-so-ever to explain what he had just done. But Hawke simply stared back at him, without rancor. Fenris took a breath. He should say something before Hawke rightfully threw him out of his house and out of his life forever.

And then, Hawke surged forward and kissed him. 

Whether Fenris was aware of it or not, at that moment, life as he knew it ended. He couldn’t help but feel his groin tighten as he returned the unexpected kiss and he didn’t let go of the young mage as he was turned and nearly thrown up against the wall in response. Fenris wasn't exactly the type to stay down however, so Hawke was quick on him. He pinned the cantankerous elf to the threshold and gripped his hips tight, giving Fenris little leverage with which to attempt to twist free. He needn’t have worried though. Fenris was not fighting him and Hawke smiled at the soft growl that came from deep within the elf’s chest when he made to pull away. Hawke tugged at Fenris’ hair but was kissed again before he could force his head back. The dominating way Fenris saw fit to take his mouth was answered with gentleness from the mage, but rather than convince either of them of any sort of incompatibility in that moment, it only seemed to deepen their need for one another. 

Fenris shivered. Hawke’s touch called him to submit in all ways and it was frightening him just as much as it was exciting him. When Hawke moved to his neck, his teeth scraping over pale skin, the elf bit back a moan. He had never been touched like this before (or if he had, he did not recall it) and it was making him light-headed and dizzy. A teasing bite to his collarbone drew a sharp hiss and caused Fenris’ back to bow. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the flagstones, hoping to regain his center and to turn the tables somewhat, but he was unable to stop himself from abandoning the attempt within seconds and instead, wrapping his arms around Hawke and finding his anchor there.

"Fenris," Hawke whispered hotly. "Do you…do you want this?"

"Yes." Fenris answered breathlessly. "Please…Hawke….”

“Please what?” He couldn’t help it. He had wanted Fenris like this for so long but, given the elf’s generally hostile demeanor and dangerously erratic moods, he had never actually thought he would have him. At least, not like this and certainly not tonight.

Fenris snarled, tightening his grip on the mage’s shoulders. “You know what I want. Don’t toy with me.”

Hawke suppressed a smirk as Fenris’ head rolled back and his entire body arched where he had boldly brought his hand down to caress him over his leggings and small-clothes. Later on, Fenris would curse his sporadic and unreliable memory. From those first frantic kisses in the hall, he wasn’t sure how they had then ended up on the second floor after that, or at what point they had moved from the stairs and into Hawke’s bedroom. He could only recall the taste of Hawke’s mouth; sweet and a little minty. And his scent; like woodsmoke and spices. Or the heat of his skin; burning into him with the same mixture of need and fear as the brands already forever marking him. Fenris had never believed that he could feel this way at another’s touch; that he would not shy from an outstretched hand or that he would so eagerly welcome the brush of fingertips along his jaw and down the inside of thighs.

As Hawke laid him back onto the bed, Fenris tensed. There had been times when Danarius had touched him like this. Had forced him to perform intimate acts for his pleasure and, on at least a few occasions, had taken him against his will. But he had only ever felt disgust at these things, and revulsion from his master’s fleeting and useless fondling. Danarius, with his penchant for filthy talk and rough groping, had never actually managed to arouse Fenris, who was simply doing what any slave would have done in the same situation: anything to avoid angering his master. But Hawke felt so different from any of that and had already teased responses from him he did not think any other had ever done before, and all with just a few heated kisses and loving caresses. He was already panting and hard, lying on his back on the cotton coverlet though still completely dressed. He stared up at the mage in abject wonder. He wanted this. He wanted Hawke. And he vowed to do whatever his new lover desired of him, without complaint. Fenris was a little surprised then that Hawke did not immediately follow him down but rather, he observed as the mage came to lie down next to him as opposed to over top of him. Hawke smiled at Fenris’ bewildered expression and reached for his hand.

The gauntlets came off first. Hawke took his time in unsnapping and unbuckling each metal piece while carefully avoiding the spiked fingers. Once he had them free and safely deposited on the floor, the mage drew Fenris’ hands to his chest, smiling again as he felt Fenris reflexively curl his fingers into the trim of Hawke’s tunic. Then came the tied waist-wrap and then Fenris’ black coat and high white collar. Each article was carefully pulled free and set down while lips and fingers explored every new inch of revealed skin. Fenris writhed impatiently. He wasn’t used to such gentle treatment and, in truth, he had no idea how to respond in kind. What he knew was fast and rough, if more than a little uncouth. Either way, he wanted Hawke to touch him and this felt like stalling. Sensing his lover’s growing frustration, Hawke kissed him, deeply and passionately, once again to still him before pushing up his shirt. Fenris didn't even notice it when Hawke’s hand began to trace a path along the lyrium lines from his throat, down his chest, and to his stomach. So much so was he held captive with the kiss. 

The mage's tongue weaved a seductive spell, tasting him and teasing him like no one ever had. There was only a second to lift his shirt over his head before Hawke's insistent mouth found him again and kept him quiet; swallowing both his words and the undignified whimper that welled up in his throat. It was not like Fenris to give much voice to his pleasure but nor could he keep completely silent with the powerful sensations racing through him. He was struggling. Fenris wanted to respond as a man should to his lover but he couldn’t quite seem to break the barriers still imprisoning his mind, and his heart. He only hoped Hawke would understand. 

Blessedly, Hawke seemed to. A hand slipped underneath the waistband of Fenris’ leggings and rubbed with the gentle urgency of a kind lover. Fenris broke the kiss to gasp and finally tug at Hawke’s clothes, unbuttoning and unbuckling as he went. He soon had Hawke bare-chested above him and he sat up to run his tongue over the dips and hollows he found there. Hawke groaned above him but pinned Fenris back down onto the bed with his heavier weight before he could get very far. He reached for the elaborate ties at the sides of Fenris’ leggings and began to undo them, taking his time about making his way down his captive's body as he slid them from the elf’s legs. There again was that frustrating slowness that he used to keep Fenris at bay, riding the edges of his own desire and discord at the same time. But Fenris was now wishing that the infuriating mage would not take such care with him and would just get on with it.

"Patience." Hawke whispered into the taut curve of his belly.

Fenris growled as Hawke's tongue delved into the small dip and swirled there. He shuddered beneath him and his legs squirmed trying to find some way to relieve the tension the pleasure was causing. Fenris wasn’t exactly sure what Hawke thought he was doing down there since he had no doubt that he was already plenty excited and ready for whatever his lover might want. Danarius had never done even the tiniest bit of any of this for him and he’d been able to take him well enough. But to Fenris’ shock, Hawke's mouth moved down and then suddenly, took him in to the root. Fenris’ loud, astonished, moan was slightly muffled when he turned his head into the blankets but Hawke smiled at his lover’s response regardless. Without hesitation, Hawke worked his mouth over Fenris’ cock, grazing the head lightly with his teeth and sliding his tongue along the shaft. With some consternation, Hawke took note of the two, thin, lyrium lines along the underside and did his best to avoid putting direct pressure on them. But the fact that he had been marked here at all, as well as everywhere else, filled the mage with a righteous indignation. Hawke sighed and drew back to suckle his lover a little harder as he worked to set his feelings of revenge aside. Tonight was not about anger or retribution. Tonight was about Fenris and doing his best to show him how much he loved him. Fenris, for his part, squeezed his eyes shut and moaned at the new stimulation, all the while his stuttering gasps of pleasure filled the room.

Fenris had no way of telling Hawke just what a profound moment this was for him. No one, simply no one, had ever done this for him and he was becoming more and more unmoored with each lick and swallow. Slaves were never permitted such pleasures beyond what was bestowed upon them by their masters and any slave found to be indulging in such things could be whipped, or even outright executed, depending on the circumstances. And Danarius had certainly never attempted to pleasure him like this, nor ever allowed anyone else to. Now, Fenris felt like he was drowning in it, his body arcing away from him in a desperate spiral of need and desire. 

"Hawke, please…. I can’t…too much."

Hawke moaned around him, sending terrifying shocks of pleasure up his spine. Fenris was unable to control his hands as he dug his fingernails into the mage’s shoulders, very nearly crying out as his lover continued to taste him. But Hawke pulled back just before Fenris was about to find his release, drawing a feral growl from the elf beneath him. Hawke smiled at his love, who looked just about completely undone; splayed on the bed, breathing heavily, with a thin sheen of sweat glistening (thanks for that, Isabela) in the firelight. Fenris looked as though he had just emerged from a hard battle. In a sense, Hawke supposed, he had. But he wasn’t quite expecting Fenris to look so…confused.  
Fenris said nothing but turned his head to gaze down at Hawke with an expectant, if guarded, look. His eyes were dark and demanding, but reticent and just a little…fearful. Hawke frowned slightly. Fenris seemed as though he were bracing himself in anticipation of pain and Hawke didn’t at all like that expression on his face. Anxious. Apprehensive. Maybe even, suspicious. 

With careful, slow, movements, Hawke stood up and undid his belt so that he could, at last, divest himself of his pants and allow Fenris to finally get a good look at him. He watched the elf’s face for signs of fear or rejection but found only the same defiant countenance from earlier looking back at him. He lay in the same place he had been put, chest rising and falling with deepened breaths, thighs partially open, his fingers twisted into the coverlet and his hair falling into his eyes as he stared up at Hawke in unspoken challenge. If Fenris was unwilling, he was making no move to see it known.

With a reassuring smile, Hawke leaned over to the bed stand and retrieved a small bottle with a clear, yellowish, liquid.

“What is that?” Fenris’ voice was hoarse but soft.

Hawke furrowed his brow as he returned to the bed; once again carefully coming to rest at Fenris’ side. “What do you mean, what is that?”

Fenris nodded towards Hawke’s hand, indicating the vial. 

“It’s…. oil.” The mage finally replied, his concern continuing to foment in his gut.

“For what?”

Hawke’s heart caught in his chest. “Oh, Fenris.” He breathed. “Here, let me show you.”

"Just relax." Hawke whispered as he lay next to Fenris, balancing his weight on his right arm as he used his teeth to pull the cork from the bottle and tip out a generous amount of oil onto his left hand. After recorking the vial and tossing it onto the floor, Hawke turned his full attention back to Fenris, who was watching the now oiled hand drift down his body with some interest. When it found his neglected manhood and began to massage it with tight, slow, strokes, Fenris couldn’t help but part his lips and gasp, his eyes fluttering shut and the desperate tension returning to his body.

It was too much for Hawke. He kissed Fenris breathless, almost to the point of lightheadedness. The elf’s body then started to relax beneath him as the mage’s hand worked over him in a slow rhythm; not allowing him to build back up to the near climax he'd been so close to before but pleasuring him steadily. Hawke licked the expanse of Fenris’ neck and was rewarded with shivers and soft moans. When he left his lover’s erection and slipped further down to tease at his entrance however, he wasn’t expecting the sudden change in Fenris’ responses. He tensed frightfully, throwing his head back with an almost angry snarl. Hawke stilled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Several seconds passed before Fenris replied, his eyes still closed, his face pained. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Uncertain, but taking Fenris at his word, Hawke touched him again, letting the oil and their own excitement ease the way. When he slipped the first finger inside of him, Fenris once again arched, his back going rigid and his jaw setting into a fierce grimace. Hawke was about to stop anyway, no matter what his lover’s protests but then, as he released the breath he’d been holding, the elf finally began to loosen up and his body calmed beneath Hawke’s gentle ministrations. When Hawke slid the second finger into him, Fenris did not object.

“Are you alright?” The mage whispered, still carefully stretching his unbelievably tight lover.

“Yes.” Came the breathless reply. “Hawke, please…. enough.”

But Hawke would not be rushed and he took his time preparing Fenris. Whatever had caused the elf to respond so viscerally to that first, tentative, touch would not simply evaporate now that renewed pleasure was once again creeping into his features. Hawke didn’t know all the details of Fenris’ time as a slave but he was certain that there had been terrible trauma in his past. And now, though Fenris had never spoken of it specifically, he knew that his love had been intimately abused as well. Most likely, he’d been made to submit to the capricious carnal desires of a violent old man who’d thought of nothing but his own sadistic delights of degradation and deprivation. Fenris hadn’t even understood what the oil was for. 

Despite Fenris’ pleas, Hawke remained slow and meticulous until his elven lover was nearly sobbing with the need for release. He watched as Fenris began to thrash on the bed, his hands alternating between grabbing on to Hawke’s shoulders and tearing at the covers around his head. It was interesting that Fenris didn’t actually make much noise, though, and despite his clear desperation, he did not cry out or make further demands. As Hawke prepared him, he also took several minutes to explore the lyrium patterns that covered Fenris’ body by tracing their outlines with his tongue. Strangely, this actually seemed to calm Fenris somewhat and Hawke could feel the elf’s hands begin carding tenderly through his hair as he teased along the line that ran from Fenris’ collarbone to his sternum. Hawke then chanced a look up into Fenris eyes. His golden-flecked gaze seemed much more settled, almost impassive.

Cautiously, Hawke withdrew his hand and, never breaking eye contact with the mercurial elf, rose up to lie on top of him. When Fenris parted his thighs and allowed Hawke to settle between them without hesitation, the mage smiled and leaned down to kiss him again; making sure that it was thorough enough to feel good and finished by the time he pulled back. To his satisfaction, Fenris remained quiet and still, if a bit flushed. Hawke then leaned forward experimentally, letting Fenris feel his desire pressing up against him and giving him fair warning that Hawke was about to enter him. He did not flinch or pull away.

Hawke watched Fenris’ face the entire time he penetrated him. Watched those glittering eyes darken to almost black, and when they briefly narrowed in pain, Hawke would stop, wait, and then start again. When Fenris’ lips parted to suck in a strained breath, Hawke would soothe him with lingering kisses to his cheek, his neck, and his chin. When his thighs would tighten reflexively around Hawke’s hips, in an unconscious attempt to resist being taken, Hawke’s warm hands would gently work out the tension with a reassuring caress. Hawke watched him carefully (as one might argue was his namesake), adjusting and reaffirming their connection in response to Fenris’ body; taking his cues physically where Fenris could not offer them verbally. And then, with his forehead pressed to Fenris’ and his arms tight around him, Hawke slid home and held still.

The sound that burst from Fenris’ mouth was heart-breaking: a deep, hurt, moan combined with a shuddering gasp of want that finally communicated the crossroads Fenris was at. Between a past filled with horrors, a burning hatred consuming everything left within him that he might have valued, and a present that dangled the promise of a kinder future, Fenris was filled with both an unslakable thirst for Hawke’s affections and an instinctual compulsion to run from them. He fought, briefly, against the body covering him; arching up as though he might wrestle away from Hawke’s embrace. But then, he fell back; his heart beating in sync with every pulse of Hawke’s length inside of him and his hands trembling as he reached out and tried to touch the mage encouragingly.

Hawke merely held him, both arms beneath his shoulders to keep him still and his mouth nibbling almost playfully at the elf’s ear. Fenris had no doubt that Hawke was waiting for him to indicate that he was ready for them to continue but he was already feeling overwhelmed. His body thrummed with pleasure just skirting the edge of pain. Even the lyrium markings seemed to be in on the combination, resonating in time with the vibrations flowing through him. Hawke had also prepared him well and he’d actually experienced very little discomfort at his entry; just an intense burning sensation as his body had worked to accept his lover for the first time. But the feeling of the mage’s body pressed all along his, holding him down onto the bed, and now seated deep inside of him, was causing his mind to flash with strange images. Names. Faces he didn’t recognize. With a plaintive groan he dug his fingers into Hawke’s hips and pulled him forward firmly. 

"Now.” He sighed into his lover’s ear. “Take me now.”

Hawke paused and and reached up to take a hold of Fenris’ chin with his hand so that the elf would be forced to look at him. Their eyes held each other captive as Hawke leaned close enough to brush their lips together.

“I love you, Fenris.”

Before the shivers had stopped skittering up his spine at his lover’s words, Fenris cried out when Hawke suddenly pulled out and then thrust fully into him, hitting a spot inside of him that made his vision go white and his breathing to briefly stop entirely. Fenris’ hands flew up and clawed the tanned flesh of Hawke’s back, actually delighting in the feel of it under his palms. His legs wrapped tightly around Hawke's waist and his back bowed up from the bed as the mage then began to move in earnest. Hawke's face was buried in his neck, his mouth giving light nips all along Fenris’ throat and back up again to tease at the rim of his ear. Hawke’s hips worked in steady controlled motions, in a rhythm like ocean waves in a rising tide and Fenris the shore he broke against. If Fenris had had the wherewithal to even think about it, he would have noted that Hawke seemed to be demonstrating far more control and finesse than he seemed otherwise capable of and, besides, where in all of Thedas had he come up with this much unreserved passion and breathtaking tenderness? 

Fenris once again let his eyes drift shut as his mind entered a static haze. He could feel every motion of Hawke’s body both on top of him and inside of him. And every time Hawke moved, Fenris could feel him pressing against the sweet spot he only discovered he had a few moments ago. He shifted beneath his lover so that his body better rolled with the motions and was immediately rewarded with a wanton moan from Hawke.

“Fenris…. you….” He murmured through quickly drawn breaths. “You feel….so good.”

Fenris couldn't form a coherent thought to answer him. All he knew was Hawke's body joined with his and how good and necessary it felt in his arms. He did manage to gasp out one last bit of encouragement, however, before his mind went blank once more.

"Liam!”

Hawke’s chuckle tickled his ears. It was true. Fenris never called Hawke by his first name, even under duress, but perhaps it was simply a testament to the talented hips that began to pound against his in a harsh tumult of reckless thrusts. Fenris was being driven into with a force he could not fight and all he could do was move in time with his lover. This man, by the gods and every curse word in Tevinter or in the languages of men, this man who crept into his life and his heart with little more than his patience and care, who had apparently broken him with nothing but his wry smile and unfailing courage; this man who would defend a stranger on no more than a promise of justice; this man with deadly strength and skill to lay his enemies low but healing arms and comforting words to those who needed him. This man who had taken on a fractured elf destined for nothing more than slave pens and chains, squatting in fear of his master’s inevitable return and had shown him that life had possibilities he had never even dared to dream about. And even now, this man, who touched him and loved him as though he had never been sullied or violated by the perversions of another, was treating him as though he were the most precious being in all the world.

“I’m…. I’m coming…" A tear slipped unwanted down Fenris’ cheek as the words spilled thoughtlessly out of him. But then Hawke covered Fenris’ mouth with his own and he could say nothing else. The mage’s wicked tongue stole the words right out of him and the feelings behind them and swallowed them whole as Fenris began to unconsciously struggle. Like a drowning man fighting for air, Fenris suffered against him, bending and recoiling as he fought the rising wave crashing over him.

But Fenris was helpless against the tightening in his gut that warned of his approaching orgasm. It had him strung high and without recourse, and what little mind he had left was lost to it. His back arched off the bed in rolling movements, his body undulating as he threw his head back against the pillows. Hawke plunged harder and deeper until Fenris’ muted cries turned into a frantic wail. With the first furious howl, Hawke sat up and pulled Fenris from the bed so that he was straddling him as Hawke balanced on his knees. Fenris instinctively wrapped his arms around him and hugged him as close as possible. This new position maintained the depth and angle Hawke had found to be the most pleasing to his new lover and with sharp movements, continued to thrust into the elf with an ever increasing crescendo. Fenris clawed at his back, leaving long deep lines he would take pride in later. The intensity of their coupling made Fenris grip Hawke’s shoulders with bruising force and he snapped his hips in return with all the delicacy of a feral beast in rut. It was all becoming just this side of painful and with Fenris’ oil-slicked erection still pressed between the two of them, rubbing against Hawke’s stomach, they both knew that they were at their end.

"Don’t stop!" Fenris pleaded through clenched teeth. “Please don’t stop.”

"I’m not going to stop." Hawke growled. "I’ve got you. You’re mine, Fenris. Hear me? You’re mine."

Hawke hooked his arm around Fenris’ waist, supporting him with the last of his strength. He then threaded the fingers of his opposite hand into Fenris’ silken, white, hair and twisted his fingers around the locks until he was able to pull them taut. When they were, he yanked just hard enough to jerk Fenris’ head back and wring another wanton cry from his throat. It was one of the very few things Hawke knew about elven sexuality; that bond-mates habitually marked each other, usually by biting, while in the throes of passion. It was also one of the few ways he could think of that might prove to him later that this night had actually happened. So, with as much accuracy as he could manage given the position they were in, Hawke steadied the wild elf in his lap, found the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, and bit down. Hard.

Fenris’ lips parted in a silent scream and he clung to Hawke as he was all but flung over the edge of ecstasy. Held tight against his lover, he came hard, aching and desperate, painting his stomach and Hawke’s chest with his essence. But the bite had also frenzied him and as the second wave of his orgasm hit, he began thrashing madly in the mage’s arms. Just then, the lyrium lit; beginning with the markings and triune dots across his abdomen and cascading upwards into a blinding blaze of blue-white light, the filigree tattoos that branded the elf exploded in a mystifying aura of color and reverberating power. Surrounded by extraordinary energy, Hawke moaned when Fenris’ body constricted tightly around him and the lyrium, now thick in the air, began to seep into his own skin. With the taste of Fenris’ still in his mouth, and what was also probably a little blood, and the squeeze and pull of his body, Hawke came with his face still buried in the elf’s throat. He groaned against Fenris’ neck and bit harder as he spilled every last drop of his seed into his lover. Fenris road out the last of his own and Hawke’s orgasm with shuddering breaths, slowly subsiding and growing taciturn in his arms. Hawke eased his thrusts, feeling the last twitches of his orgasm finally playing out as Fenris shivered and all of his weight rested against him.

Hawke carefully supported Fenris’ head as he lay him slowly back down onto the bed. While it did not appear that Fenris had lost consciousness exactly, he seemed to be in another world; muttering short phrases in his native tongue and cringing away from imagined phantoms. 

_…. A servant girl running along a grassy hill….” Wait, come back! Don’t leave me here!” …. the smell of a forge somewhere, a fire that had been burning for a very long time…. metal grinding on metal…a three-jeweled crown on a marble pedestal…. “Leto!” …. a woman smiling down at him…a moth in a jar…blood…. everywhere…._

Fenris did not seem to notice as Hawke slowly withdrew from him and gathered him back into his arms as he pulled them both beneath the warmth of the covers. With care-worn gestures, Hawke smoothed Fenris’ hair away from his face and lovingly calmed his frightened murmurings. It was several minutes before Fenris seemed to be finally pacified and opened his eyes again.

“Hawke?”

Hawke smiled and leaned down to kiss the harsh bruise on Fenris’ neck. He then made a trail of butterfly kisses down his chest, licking and cleaning a bit of the mess they had made. Fenris sighed and said nothing, simply allowing Hawke to touch him as he liked without commentary. To his surprise, Fenris found that he actually quite enjoyed it. Hawke was being careful with him again and each kiss or caress was followed by a small, happy, noise from the mage. It was so cute it was almost endearing. Fenris huffed with subdued amusement but his mind was still in a chaotic turmoil and he wasn’t quite entirely with it. Something was happening. Something was wrong. There was still a voice somewhere in the distance, calling to him.

But with that, he quieted and fell into a fitful sleep cradled in Hawke’s arms.


	2. Picked-Up Pieces: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris converse following the battle with the slaver Danarius and his guard. Though it has been three years since their last (and only) encounter, Fenris finds that his love for Hawke has not diminished. And to his surprise, neither has Hawke’s for him. A continuation of the story begun in Picked Up Pieces – Part I, though still within the canon Fenris Romance storyline of Dragon Age II (Fenris/M!Hawke, PWP, Yaoi.).

**Part II**  
Danarius was dead. Wasn’t that enough? Why was nothing ever enough?   
________________________________________________________________________  
“We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago.”

“You didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me – I deserved no less. But it isn’t better. That night…I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now.”

“I need to understand why you left, Fenris.”

“I’ve thought about the answer a thousand times. The pain, the memories it brought up…it was too much. I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt.”

“What would you have said?”

“Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”  
________________________________________________________________________

Three years. It had been three years since that night but the memories of it haunted Fenris with unceasing tirades. Tragic flights of imagination that pursued him with the relentless determination of a slaver’s hounds, so much so that it might as well have been Hawke himself demanding his surrender in the end. In truth, had it actually ever come to that, he might even have given it. But instead of facing the truth, he would wake sometimes, in his crumbling mansion late in the night, panting and desperate. His body already enflamed, he would take himself in hand and reach an aching climax in moments, Hawke’s name invariably on his tongue. And then, ashamed and regretful, he would silence his angry sobs by biting down onto his own hand until blood stained the sheets below. He didn’t deserve these fictions but they were all that sustained him.

Now, Fenris’ heart fluttered in his throat. A most undignified sensation if he was being honest, but there it was, none-the-less. And Hawke, looking up at him with that same wry smile again and saying things he had no right to hear.

“I understand, Fenris. I’ve always understood.”

The forlorn old mansion was often cold at this time of the year but felt oddly hot. His back to the roaring fireplace, Fenris drew in a terse breath and steeled himself in order to make his final promise at last.

“If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

The kiss that followed was tender albeit tentative. Hawke seemed a little uncertain; as though Fenris would leap out of his arms and bolt at any moment. This was his mansion however, and it wasn’t like he had all that many places to go other than here. Not that he wanted to. Rather, Fenris set about pulling the mage closer as the kiss deepened and softening his posture in response to Hawke’s characteristically solid embrace. 

When it broke, Hawke was clutching at Fenris’ coat, his eyes downcast and his face flushed.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked through uneven breaths.

“I…” Hawke started. “It’s just that I’ve thought about being with you...for…for so long. And what that might mean. But I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to do…this…again.”

It was now Fenris’ turn to offer comfort and reassurance, though he still considered himself terribly bad at it. “I’m sorry, Hawke. It’s…it’s not that…” He sighed, stepping closer and leaning in to nuzzle at the mage’s ear. “I want you, Liam. I wanted you then. I want you now. That was never the problem.”

However, when unsure fingers began to drift up his side, Fenris stuttered and tensed.

“But you pull away from me as soon as I try to touch you.”

Fenris huffed with benign frustration. “It’s just been a very long time, that’s all. I’m…I’m not used to it…being touched” 

“Fenris? Haven’t you…I mean, even just the Blooming Rose, you could have…?”

“Not since……No.”

Hawke peered down at the elf with a mixture of surprise and concern but Fenris had turned his head away and was staring off towards the fireplace with a crestfallen look. Even his ears had dropped back with a light rosy coloring. Gently and slowly, Hawke raised his hand to tilt Fenris’ face back towards him. When he once again had the elf’s attention, he leaned in to brush his lips against his lover’s in a teasing not-quite kiss that finally caused Fenris to press into him in an attempt to close the spaces still between them. It was exactly what Hawke needed to feel.

“Fen?” He whispered; his voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire. “Do you want to make love?”

Fenris nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”

* * * * *

In the three years since Hawke had first consummated his relationship with Fenris, the nearly-abandoned mansion hadn’t actually changed all that much. It was a sagging sort of decrepit old building that rested on its foundations with the kind of bowed exhaustion often felt by those who had grown old from weathering too many conflicts. Threadbare rugs and tapestries hung off of its walls like mossy tussocks; more fibers and leaves than embroidered tableau and the furniture was largely broken, overturned, or missing. But the windows were still mostly intact and the beams and supports seemed stable. 

Hawke moved down the halls with a lot more confidence than he had felt just a year or two before and was delighted to see Fenris following him at an amiable, if slightly predatory, pace. He remembered that Fenris preferred to sleep in the highest rooms, out of the way of the main halls and out of reach of the streets below, and he did his best to make their way in that direction now. He wasn’t entirely sure exactly where he was going however, and Fenris wasn’t offering much in the way helpful navigation. But then, they both stopped.

When Fenris turned and paused in the threshold of a large, open, oak door; one gauntleted hand giving an indicating tap to the jamb, Hawke was caught off-guard by the contented smile he gave him before disappearing into the dimly-lit room beyond. For a moment, Fenris has almost looked…tranquil.

With all due caution, Hawke peeked around the corner and looked in. The room was remarkably simple; one might even say, austere. A low, timber-framed, bed with full curtains to block out the flickering of the red-granite hearth a few feet away. A battered chest at the foot of the down mattress. A single rug with a patterned design, a single bed-side table with a hurricane lamp, and a book marked at less than a third of the pages. Hawke couldn’t suppress the proud smile that crept onto his face upon seeing it. He’d taught Fenris to read a while ago and ever since the last of their ad-hoc lessons some months back, he’d noticed that Fenris was continuing to develop something of a voracious appetite for history books. Whenever they weren’t off dealing with whatever manner of problems had come up that week, Fenris could often be found reading. Or, barring that, playing Wicked Grace.

“You can come in, Hawke.”

The mage blushed and then cursed himself for it. He had no idea why he felt so bashful and embarrassed around Fenris at the moment. But here, in his bedroom, it felt so unexpectedly intimate. Like he was entering into a forbidden sanctum never before seen and one which he ought to treat reverently. 

Fenris had his back turned to him as he stepped across the threshold and into the room, facing the fire and appearing to be deep in thought. His shoulders tensed as Hawke approached him but he didn’t turn around. When Hawke made no further attempts at physical contact, Fenris regarded him over his shoulder. 

“What do you want from me, Hawke?”

The mage considered the question for a moment before replying. “I want…you. I want to be with you. But, I think, most of all, I want you to want to be with me. If you don’t; not really, I mean, I’d rather you were plain about it.”

Fenris turned to face him and again carefully drew closer until he was nearly nose to nose with the other. “You’re right.” He agreed. “I should be plain about it. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Hawke raised a worried eyebrow but Fenris only smiled lightly in return.

“I love you, Hawke. Ever so much more now than I did before.”

It was a frank admission but undeniable. So, Hawke did the only thing he could think of to answer his lover’s confession - he kissed Fenris with all the pent-up passion he’d been holding on to since their first night together. He felt, rather than heard, Fenris growl before the kiss was returned just as fiercely. It stirred his blood even more when Fenris’ hand slipped down his chest to pull at the front of his jacket as he did his best to devour his mouth. 

The kiss finally broke before either of them wanted it to, but the necessity for air was far too pressing. “So,” Hawke chuckled, nipping along Fenris’ jaw. “Thing is, I wasn’t exactly anticipating coming to you like this tonight. And, I uh…didn’t come prepared.” 

“Oh.” Fenris turned his head and coughed almost shyly; his eyes awkwardly darting away. “That’s alright. I…. it’s in the drawer in the nightstand.”

Hawke pulled back, wide-eyed. “I thought you said that you hadn’t…”

“I haven’t.” Fenris immediately cut him off. But then, a little gentler, “I got it…just for myself. When you showed me what it was for, I had never…there were times when I needed…when I thought about…”

With a scowl, Hawke backed Fenris up against one the larger bedposts, pinning him to the wide column with nearly his full weight. “Thought about what?”

Fenris glowered at him. “What do you think?” He hissed; his response sounding angrier than he meant it to.

But Hawke was not dissuaded and held his unpredictable lover still against the post. “Tell me.”

Fenris looked stricken and briefly struggled against Hawke, who, for his part, then grabbed a hold of Fenris’ hips hard enough to lift him and pull him flush against his body. When Fenris instinctively brought one of his knees up to press onto Hawke’s thigh for greater stability, the mage responded by hooking his hand underneath it and pulling Fenris’ leg around his waist. 

“Three years.” Hawke snarled into the elf’s ear. “Three years you’ve been avoiding me. Three years you’ve turned away from me and left me to a cold bed and lonely nights. And all that while you’ve been up here, thinking of me and of us. Finding your release but constantly denying who brought you there. Now. Tell me. Tell me what you thought about.”

“I…” Fenris felt his face go red and the lyrium begin to spark along his arms and fingers. He felt something like tears stinging the corners of his eyes. His loving and gentle Hawke was now rough and indignant in his arms, holding on to him with a force that would not be silenced nor soothed. “I would think about how you touched me then. What…” He swallowed nervously but continued. “What it felt like when you lay against me, and then, when you were… inside of me. That I never imagined it could feel so…so good. About how different it was…to…that it wasn’t like when…”

Suddenly, Hawke pulled back and met Fenris’ gaze with a look that left the elf speechless. It was an intense expression, filled with a terrifying mixture of passion and desire, love and care, wounded devotion, and what could almost be called…murderousness. Fenris felt his body drop back against the bedpost as Hawke’s harsh grip on him loosened and he was once again being held tenderly, if at something of a distance.

“Fenris?” Came Hawke’s voice, soft and hoarse. “That night. That wasn’t the first time you had ever been…” He couldn’t seem to finish the inevitable thought. He had long suspected, given the fallout from their previous encounter, that Danarius had raped Fenris during his enslavement. But he’d never had the chance, nor the courage, to ask him about it directly.

“No. But it was the first time I have ever done so willingly.”

So, that was it. With renewed gentleness, Hawke held Fenris close, threading one hand through his hair and pressing his face into the elf’s neck both so that he might communicate the depth of his desires and regrets and to prevent Fenris from seeing the tears escaping down his cheek. After a few moments to compose himself, Hawke nuzzled back up beneath Fenris’ ear.

“I love you. I love you and I would never hurt you.”

“I know, Hawke. It’s…it’s alright. A lot has changed since then. For the both of us.”

“I suppose so. But…if you were doing what I think you were doing; I’m guessing that you’ve been…enjoying the memory?”

Fenris huffed and brought his mouth down to Hawke’s shoulder to place tentative kisses along his collar. “It’s one of the few I treasure.”

“Well then, I think that’s going to be the new plan. A whole repertoire of better memories!”

*********

A short time later, Fenris was having similar thoughts as he gazed down at Hawke’s face, contorted in rapture beneath him. Tangled in the blankets, he straddled Hawke; his knees on either side of the mage’s hips as his lover thrust upwards and into him with exquisitely full strokes, guiding him down and back with firm hands braced on his thighs. Their rhythm was temperate, however, and Hawke was doing his best to take Fenris compassionately. To keep their pace easy and patient. But watching Fenris move above him, as well as the way in which he would close his eyes and throw his head back, his mouth going slack with pleasured breaths, was already threatening to undo Hawke in the worst ways. 

Taking Fenris this time had been easier than the first. Hawke had watched, nearly struck dumb with lust, as Fenris had prepared himself; showing his lover all of the myriad ways in which he had been exploring and discovering his own pleasure in the years they had been apart. In fact, Hawke had made a particular mental note to ask him about it later, especially as it had become clear that Fenris had greatly expanded his comfort during their separation. From what Hawke could gather, Fenris had taken serious time to truly consider and come to an understanding with his own sexuality, free from coercion, and to decide on some of what he liked and what he didn’t. That he had also done so alone, with only a single night of memories to advise him, was deeply moving to Hawke.

Hawke then watched as Fenris lay back on the bed and used the oil from the nightstand (with its unusually spicy scent) to tease himself into full hardness. Watched how he had then touched and readied his own entrance before relaxing onto the coverlet and, to Hawke’s delight, even smiling slightly as he invited his lover to join him. Which he did, of course, with great enthusiasm. When he’d been ready, Fenris had pushed Hawke onto his back with a forceful kiss before gingerly climbing atop him. From there, Hawke had done his best not to rush it but by then the passion between them had reached a near frenzy and he had grabbed a hold of his lover and taken Fenris with a single, hard, thrust.  
The shocked gasp that had come from the elf on his zealous entry had left Hawke immediately contrite as he rubbed his lover’s lower back apologetically. But Fenris hadn’t seemed terribly upset by it otherwise and had picked up a steady rhythm almost immediately, rolling his hips against his lover’s in a steady measure. Now, as one of Hawke’s hands scratched lightly down his chest while the other traced across his inner thigh, Fenris moaned softly and tried to part his legs further. 

"Fen…" 

Writhing, Hawke could only take the sensations that Fenris allowed to him and he did so, stuttering his lover's name repeatedly as he continued to push his hips against the elf’s lighter weight. He also couldn't see just how much his gasps and cries excited Fenris, who had anchored both of his hands to Hawke’s chest and bowed his head in an effort to hold on to what was left of his self-control. Even in this position, Hawke was loving him tenderly and the feeling of the mage once again moving inside of him had Fenris near to breaking.

His head whipping to the side, Fenris actually sobbed in joy at their long-awaited coupling. Then, he tried to thrust his hips forward but to no avail. He could only tremble as Hawke brought his hands down to hold him firmly in place. The voice that drifted to his ears was smoky and wanton as Hawke slowly began to pull himself up from the bed, dragging his mouth up Fenris’ torso to his neck with a simple command. “Tell me what you want." 

“I…I want…” Fenris stammered out, wrapping his arms around Hawke’s shoulders as he was cradled in the mage’s lap. “I want you…to fuck me.”

Hawke was actually a bit taken aback, having literally never heard Fenris say such a thing before. But he held him close regardless and stilled his lover from moving too much as he teased more from him with heated banter. “Are…are you sure?”

Fenris laughed. A delicate, supple, sound that Hawke had so rarely heard that he wasn’t sure if the elf was actually even capable of it. 

“Yes, Liam.” He whispered into the mage’s ear. “I want you to take me. Hard. Until I can’t remember anyone but you. Make me cry out for you.”

With an exhilarated groan, Hawke heaved Fenris up from a sitting position to drop him, rather unceremoniously, onto his back. He was not long bereft, however, as the mage quickly covered him, pulled Fenris’ strong legs around his waist, and forcefully slid back into him. Once reseated, Hawke then embarked on an acquisition of his lover that bordered on ferocity. With a shout, he pulled out and drove back in, over and over again until Fenris called out his name with pleading desperation. The mage’s hands then gripped Fenris’ hips, tilting them slightly, and he thrust again; hearing the change in that ecstatic voice. Fenris was now shivering against him each time he thrust and his cries had become frantic with his need for release. Hawke couldn’t resist pressing his lips against the parted ones below him; swallowing each cry, moan, and pant as Fenris offered them up. 

Fenris had finally surrendered and took each stroke with a shudder as his climax approached. He could feel the excitement sweeping through him, ravaging him; the lyrium heating up and alighting as his will was broken and again remade. A low keening started in the back of Fenris’ throat and he broke from the kiss to give it full voice as he finally fell over the edge of oblivion; his body going rigid as he came beneath the onslaught, thrashing madly in Hawke’s embrace. 

"LIAM!”

Fenris had never been so vocal at any other time in his existence but this moment felt as though he had been drowning; drowning in despair and isolation. And then, when he had finally found the strength to call out for help, someone had finally reached for him, pulled him back to the surface, and breathed life into his body once more. And now, he was left gasping in that new breath with every wave of his orgasm and every pummeling beat of his re-started heart.

For Hawke, watching Fenris come was a sight he would cherish until the last of his days. The usually reticent and reserved elf was completely unrestrained at the height of his passion, his head thrown back to expose his brightly-glowing, lyrium-marked, throat and his face twisted into shades of ecstasy that brought Hawke to his own end with a shout. It was all he could do to hold on to Fenris as his body gave a few final thrusts and spilled his seed into the elf’s tight heat. It was agonizing and glorious all at the same time; to hold Fenris fully against him and to release all of his frustrated and unrequited emotions, along with his climax, into the slender body beneath him. 

When they were both spent at last, they collapsed together into the mattress; a heap of sweat-slicked limbs and flustered curses. Sighing, Hawke nuzzled up to his lover moments later, carefully withdrawing from him before taking him up into his arms. This time, Fenris clearly felt his lover uncouple from him and muttered something ill-mannered in Tevinter before settling down into Hawke’s hold once more. When he then felt the mage tentatively nosing at him, Fenris looked up, focusing slowly on his lover’s face before accepting a kiss from the man smiling over him. 

Chuckling softly, Hawke nibbled at Fenris’ lower lip, "So, can I request that we don’t wait another three years to do that again?" 

"I’m going to assume you enjoyed it then?" There was a faint note of happiness to the tired voice.

“Didn’t you?”

“Yes, Hawke. I enjoyed that very much.”

“So…” 

"Talk to me in the morning." 

_(To Be Continued in an Upcoming Work: “Stranger Places”)_


End file.
